...His...

…His…

Chapter 6



Riders, men, éoreds began arriving in Dunharrow days later. They brought with them rumors of war, a battle horrible. The impregnable fortress at the Deeping Coomb was severely damaged, blown up with dark magic. These… orcs… had scaled the walls, trapping the men within, defeat certain until Erkenbrand arrived with his men with the wizard, Gandalf.

The knowledge that creatures warred inside the unassailable stronghold frightened many of us to our bones. What was the world coming to, when all we held dear was being ripped from us? I looked continuously for Éomer, praying that he was alive and not chasing Dunlendings all over the Riddermark.

“Why do you look?” Ábiterian slid next to me. She caught me by surprise and I balled up my fist in ire. “He is to be king! He will not-“

“Ladies,” Éowyn’s voice cut Ábiterian off. “Do you not have enough to do?” Ábiterian mumbled about cleaning the kitchens before scurrying off. Éomer’s sister watched her scuttle off through hooded eyes. “She does not like you.”

“No, my lady. She does not.”

“Why?”

I shrugged helplessly. “How does one explain years of ill will?”

Éowyn continued to watch her walk away. “I remember her when I was very young. She did not like me either.” She waited a moment, tapping her lip thoughtfully before walking around me, taking me by the elbow. “Come. I have things to do and I wish your help.”

~*~

Éowyn was more than kind and kept me busy and away from Ábiterian, so I was occupied and did not see when Éomer arrived. I was going about the day to day chores that his sister assigned me, when I heard many new voices, including a familiar one. I looked up to see Éomer standing with a regal, older man and a redheaded Rider. They were still in their armor and were deep in animated, but not angry, conversation. There were arms akimbo and fingers pointing to the north, east, west. Éomer looked worn, tired; he was filthy and his leathers bore battlemarks. There was a long cut on his face that ran along the side of his helmet, which he still wore. Without thinking, I took a step towards him; I wanted a closer look at the cut. It needed cleaning, but he looked up at me and nodded once, making clear my presence was unwelcome at the time. Both men noticed his attention was not completely focused on them and they looked at me with more than minor curiosity.

I bowed my head and went about my business.

That evening, as I headed to my assigned resting place, the redheaded Rider stopped me. Although not as tall as Éomer, he was thick in muscle and broad of shoulder. I guessed him to be at least forty-five summers. “My lady,” his voice was soft-spoken and he nodded slightly in deference, “Éomer has had your things to moved to his quarters. He has wounds that he says need your attention.” I simply dipped and followed the man through the fortress to the encampment outside.

I had not been outside in some days, so I was shocked at the number of tents and horses that were set up. Men were darting here and there, horses were being fed, watered, tied down for the evening. I noticed a dark area towards the back of the encampment that upset the horses. It made me uncomfortable as well.

We came around a corner to find Éomer and several men, including the noble Rohirrim I saw him with earlier. I dipped in a rather pathetic curtsey. “My Lord, King.”

“Bah!” Théoden waved at me. “None of this king business.” His hand was held out to help me rise. “Éomer? Where are your manners? Introduce us.”

And thus, I found myself introduced most informally to Théoden, King of Rohan and one of his captains, Gamling. In addition, somewhere between that introduction and Éomer’s tent, I was introduced to Gandalf the White, several of the Fair Folk, including the son of Thranduil of the Green Wood and the sons of Elrond, as well as a dwarf and a Ranger, the Ranger Éowyn said was the King of Gondor.

Éomer’s tent was spacious, certainly auspicious and grand to me. It was large, braziers lit in each corner, vented so the smoke would not cloy the room. There was a table in one corner, with maps and things I did not recognize. Éomer’s weapons, swords, his gear, were piled neatly in a corner, next to my few meager things. In the middle of the far wall, a large pile of furs, blankets were stacked neatly, making a large, comfortable bed.

“Disgusting, is it not.” Éomer’s voice was droll, dripping with discontent. His eyes took in the majesty of his quarters. “Not one moon past, I was sleeping on the ground with my men or in the saddle. Now, I am the heir and I am forced to endure such comforts.” He kicked at the furs. “There is a feather mattress under all of that, as well as pillows.”

My toes were curling in my shoes, the thought of sleeping on the ground was painful. “My lord, would you have me dispose of the bed?”

He looked at me as if I had wounded him deeply. “You have forgotten my name?”

“No, my… Éomer.”

“You are sleeping in the bed with me, so no, I do not wish for you to dispose of the mattress. “ Finally, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. “You would not do well on the ground. Strong however you may be, a soldier you are not.” For several moments, he held me close and I succumbed to the comfort of his embrace and heat. Eventually, he released me.

“I am filthy and I have a few injuries that could use a woman’s touch.” He stepped away and began to pull off his over-tunic and shirt. “Rumor has it there are women doing laundry and taking care of the men’s needs.” At this he turned and speared me with a serious look. “I have no desire for anyone’s aid but yours.”

“Do you have clean clothes, Éomer?” He nodded to the trunk sitting in the corner. I took that as permission to open it and peruse the contents. In it, I did find clean clothing and I pulled out a shirt and trousers, along with small clothes. I turned to hand them to him, only to gasp.

“Aye. I told you I was filthy.”

“Filthy, aye, but…” I let my voice trail off as I saw the bandages around his arm and chest. “Were you not wearing armor?” I dropped the clothing on the bed and rushed to his side to closer inspect what lay beneath the dirt and sweat incrusted bandages. I went to remove the mark around his neck.

“Leave it be.” He placed his hand over it, to hold it into place. “You should see my armor,” he winked. “It is being repaired and I suspect,” he hissed when I pulled back the bloody bandage from his torso, “… it saved my liiiiife…OW! DAMMIT woman! Must you pull like that?”

I stepped back, turning loose of the embedded cloth. “My apologies, my lord-“

“Éomer!”

“My Lord!” If he was taken aback by my rebuke, he did not show it. Rather, he put up a childish, mutinous front. “I do not have time for foolishness and whining children. If you wish for me to clean and tend to your injuries, I need to inspect them!” I crossed my arms across my chest and settled on one hip. “I can wait until you decide.”

The stand off felt like forever, before he finally exhaled. He thrust his arms from his sides and rolled his eyes. “Do as you will.”

“You are such a baby,” I muttered, making my way as gently as I could around his bandages.

Eventually, I called for several buckets of hot water and cloths, along with bandages. I took Éomer’s dirty clothing to the washing areas and then went to the healer’s tent for salves and healing herbs. On my way back, I overheard raised voices, speaking an unfamiliar language. Quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, I peered around the tent, seeing the Ranger, the Dwarf and three elves in a heated discussion.

All were pointing to the entrance of the Dark Paths.

I shuddered at the implications and turned, rushing back to Éomer’s tent. The hot water arrived while I was away and he was attempting to bath himself, something I found humorous to watch.

“What?” He spun around when he heard my giggling. “Oh, so you think you can do a much better job of it than I?”

“Aye, I can,” I acknowledged. “Sit down and allow me to tend to you.” For some time, I washed, cleaned the dirt and old perspiration from his body. The stench under the bandages was vile, but I removed them gently as I could and cleaned the grime from the gashes.

“We hear there will be war,” I attempted to make small talk while I worked on a particularly deep cut. Even after several cleanings, it was still oozing dirt. I was shocked it was not infected. Perhaps, I cleaned it in time.

“Sauron lives.” Éomer was matter-of-fact. “His armies are unleashed on Gondor and Gondor has called for our aid.” He was quiet for a minute. “According to the White Wizard, the One Ring has been found and at this moment, a Half-ling bears it through Mordor to destroy it.”

“A Half-ling? You mean the Hobbit?” The Shireling had shadowed Éowyn since his arrival. “The men are making fun of him, clanging around in his armor.”

Éomer snorted and he turned for me, raising another arm. “His kinsman has the ring. Éowyn should not encourage that one.”

I was completely infuriated by his attitude. “Why should he not fight? Are the men of Rohan the only ones who hold life dear?”

For a moment, time stood still. Éomer stared at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Eventually, he snorted and shook his head. “You sound like my sister.”

This did not squelch my ire. “Thank you! I like your sister.” I touched his chin to lift his face. I focused on the long scratch than ran from chin to eye, cleaning it with a fresh cloth.

“Somehow,” he whispered, “I knew you would.” He closed his eyes, apparently enjoying my ministrations.

Eventually, I finished medicating and bandaging hurts and cuts. The rumbling in my stomach made him laugh and grabbing his leggings, he went out into the night, bringing me back a bowl of something that smelled barely edible. I sat, holding the bowl with both hands, looking at the questionable chunks of something floating in the broth.

“Is this Dunlending Feast Day, where I get to eat with my fingers?”

The King’s heir smiled at that and pulled a semi-wiped fork from his pocket. My stomach lurched painfully.

“What? I did not think it smelled so horribly.” Éomer grabbed the vessel from me and using the spoon he brought, dipped into the broth and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “’Tis not so bad, at least it is hot.” He put the filthy utensil back into the bowl and handed it to me.

I managed to swallow a few tasteless bites, secretly thanking Béma that I was born female and would not have to force myself to eat such swill over any length of time. About the time I decided I could not possibly force another bite down, there was a scratching and call from the doorway of the tent.

“My lord,” Gamling, the redheaded Rider stepped into the tent, ducking his head in deference. He acknowledged me as well. “There is a problem.”

“A problem?” Éomer mimicked back. “What sort of problem.” He dropped his shoulders. “Do not tell me my sister has brought her armor and sword and thinks to ride with the Hobbit to war?” I took the interruption in stride, thanking the gods that Éomer’s attention was no longer on my eating the disgusting food and without his noticing, dumped it on the ground just outside the tent.

The joke went over Gamling’s head. “The Ranger has left.”

Éomer’s jocularity vanished. “Left?”

“Aye.”

It was if the air were sucked from the tent. “Left. As in packed up his gear and left.” Gamling seemed to be at a loss for words. “Does the king know?”

“Aye. He said leaves because he must.” He waited a moment. “My lord, he left with the Elf and the Dwarf. They took the Paths of the Dead.”

Éomer sat down hard on the bed and rubbed his mouth. His eyes darted back and forth in thought. “Uncle is correct.” He looked up to see Gamling looking at him in confusion. “Aragorn is the lost king of Gondor. The ghosts in the Dwimorberg answer to him.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “If he survives, he will bring an army that cannot be killed.” He stood up and began to pace. “That will put an ache in Sauron’s caw, to be sure.”

They talked of other things. I tried to keep myself busy, cleaning, straightening. Soon after, Gamling left, leaving me alone with Éomer. He tied the flaps of the tent down, ensuring no one would disturb us, before turning to me.

“Come here.”

I obeyed; it did not occur to me to question. I stood silently as he undressed me, dropping my clothes where I stood. Gently, he nudged me backwards, towards the bed. His finger caressed me; the palm of his hand cupped me… his whispering in my ear…

“…mé léoflic, léoflic wudurose… my beautiful, beautiful wild rose…”

In the glow of the braziers, he bid me ride, begged me to touch and taste the salt of him. For the first time, I was the Rider and I controlled the night. My hands tangled in silken locks, like reins, and from above I watched him nuzzle me, our shadows thrown on the silken walls, undulating, traveling as one. It was a dance neither of us had undertaken, experienced...

And when the world exploded, the fire consuming both of us, the braziers quietly went out.

~*~

“Wudurose, you still shake.”

Time had passed, enough for the remnants of the dance to subside, but he was correct. I still shook. I attempted to calm myself, but it only made things worse. Tears began to spill from my eyes. I brought my fists up. “Damn. When did I become such a weepy thing?”

Éomer was immediately up on one elbow. He pulled me in close, dragged my hands from my face. “My Wudurose! Crying, shaking, you swore! I have never heard you swear like my sister!” He drew me to him, almost beneath him. “Why? Why do you cry?”

I did not know whether to be angry or saddened. I wondered if it was possible to be both. “Do you not know? Are you dense?” By now, the tears burst forth like a torrent, a dam that burst. “You are going to war! WAR! I dread you will not come back. I fear you will come back. I fear life has changed and what we have, will be destroyed. I am nothing more than a farmer. A farmer’s daughter.” I poured my heart into his chest, clinging to him, the mark pressed painfully into my cheek. “I am nothing but a farmer and you will be king.”

He waited until I cried myself out, waited for those dreadful hiccups I despised. As my weeping softened, he spoke gently.

“I will not lie and tell you things will not change. They will. The earth has changed and will change again when this is over.” He rolled, pulling me to his side. “I do not wish for us to change. I will fight that with all my being. I will fight for us. I promise to do at least that. But I cannot promise things will not change. They will. But my feelings for you will not.”

I finally cried myself to sleep; falling at the edge of the abyss to hear Éomer whispering…

“Mé léoflic wudurose, ic ferhþlufu ðu…”

~~~…~~~